


Art, and Coffee, of the Ancient Greeks

by ShadowsOffense



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Past Drug Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:46:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowsOffense/pseuds/ShadowsOffense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt:  BtVS - Willow, Tara - i had some dreams; they were clouds in my coffee</p>
<p>In the middle of season 6, Willow returns to the Expresso Pump after visiting Giles in England.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Art, and Coffee, of the Ancient Greeks

Willow had missed a lot of things when she was in England. Too many to count, really. Friends, family. Big things, and not so big things, too.

It was with decided sense of relief, her first time back at the Espresso Pump, that she stood, bouncily, in line and ordered a mocha before the server had a chance to speak. Grande, three shots, for here, please. She hadn’t been able to get coffee in England. Willow grimaced. Well, they served stuff they called coffee. Just like places in America served tea, actually. It was not coffee. Or tea. Or whatever. Well, Willow allowed, except for sweet tea, but that was a whole different beast.

Willow moved to take a seat by the register as she waited for her drink, jiggling her foot. The place was so familiar. Her eyes drank it in as she inhaled the welcoming aroma, noting the little changes that weren’t really changes at all. Not in any way that mattered. There was a different type of straw at the cream and sugar bar. The tip jar had switched sides of the register. Tara, being left handed, had always had to reach across herself to leave her change; now it was Willow who would have to…. Tara.

They had come here often. Every week. Even back when they were dating-but-not-dating. When Willow hadn’t bothered to explain that, yes, she was interested in girls too, and Tara, afraid to assume too much, had assumed nothing at all. They had been three booths down (it was currently hosting a study group of heads bent over individual text books) when Willow had slyly slid her hand across the table and placed it over Tara’s for no reason at all. Because she was sitting across from the sweetest, most beautiful girl imaginable, during what she had thought was a date, and had wanted to. She hadn’t even thought twice about it then, not until Tara had stared down at their hands with wide eyes and tentatively asked if Willow wanted to have dinner Wednesday, after class. It was the first time Tara had asked and the first time Willow had even considered that Tara might not have been aware that her intentions were more than friendly. 

Her name was called and Willow hopped up to retrieve her long awaited coffee. Her mouth was already watering. Eyes closed she lifted the mug to her face and breathed in deeply. She had accepted Tara’s invitation, of course, and Wednesday was the date they celebrated their anniversaries from… had celebrated their anniversaries from. Willow frowned down at the artistic foamy heart on the top of her mocha and promptly got a spoon. Stirring, she went back to her booth. 

She had assumed they were dating and Tara had assumed, once she knew they were dating, that they could date, openly. Willow blew on her coffee to cool it. That hadn’t been the case for Willow, who had been so far in the closet that she couldn’t begin to imagine being out of it. Little hurts, little misconceptions that were never important enough to talk through. It bothered her, really, the way they could be… had been… so close, understood so much, and still have had so many miscues and false perceptions.

Willow set her mug down abruptly. Like the art! The walls of the Espresso Pump hosted student collections from UCS’s art department, which changed monthly. She had noticed the tip jar and straws, but had never noticed the changes in the part that was always changing. Blind spots, rather than blindness, had been the hamartia, the tragic flaw, of their relationship.

And a good bit of hubris, on her part, as well. But there was always hubris. “Stupid ancient Greeks,” Willow muttered aloud. She took a sip of the coffee and grimaced when she realized she had stirred all of her foamy goodness away. 

Tara had seen Willow falling too far into magic, black magic. Seen the pain, the guilt, behind her actions. But she had superimposed Willow’s insecurities over the reasoning behind her, now admitted and overcome (if not destroyed), addiction. She had seen Willow’s desperate need for power and strength, but not the fear of loss that drove her to it. And, in turn, Willow hadn’t seen that her growing need to control had been what had frightened Tara. She had assumed Tara had been afraid for her rather than of her. Willow closed her eyes.

She had messed things up so badly.

Everything, everything she had wanted, all the dreams she had had. She had taken a big black magic spoon and stirred it all away. She wanted foamy heart clouds in her coffee. Sweetness that clung to her lips and arms to hold her, and be held in return, as they fell asleep.

She wanted to be home again. Because as great as coffee was, it wasn’t what she really missed. Had missed before she even left. It was why she had pushed herself, changed the art on her walls, moved the jar, and got new straws. But she was still Willow. The table Tara had stormed away from in tears was still there, diagonal from the booth of their not-date date. The floors were the same and the door that had been politely held and distraughtly slammed out of was still the same. It even had the same tinkle-y bell.

What if Tara didn’t want foamy heart mochas anymore? What if she had grown to like tea? What if Willow hadn’t changed enough to see the art Tara hung on her own walls?

Standing, Willow brought her partially full cup to the dirty dish bin and made her way out of the café. It was hard, nerve wracking even, but she had to try. Coffee wasn’t coffee without Tara. Home wasn’t home.


End file.
